Chapter 23
When Logan said he’d drive, I didn’t expect it to be on his motorcycle, I mean, I should’ve, but I didn’t think about it.
He stroked the handlebars, his long fingers a gentle caress like he was touching a woman’s back. My lips parted as I watched.
Damn it, I was going to explode before I even got on the bloody bike.
“You’ve been on my bike before, why do you look like I’m asking you to kick a kitten?”
“I just ... it’s been a while. I’m uncomfortable.” What woman wouldn’t want to ride on the back of a bike with someone like Logan. This situation is like a fantasy come true and another step toward what I was desperately trying to avoid.
“Uncomfortable? I assume it’s having your p-ssy tight to my ass that has you—uncomfortable.” His lips quirked upward, and it catapulted me back to when he’d been eyeing a bike at the corner store where we used to stop and get ice cream. His eyes had lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. He had a bike; I’d been on it, but it was nothing like the one we saw that day.
The owner came out of the store, and they chatted for a half hour about motors while I went and got us ice cream sandwiches then ate both of them while leaning up against his truck admiring his sweet ass.
“You remember that bike we—”
“Saw at the convenience store,” I finished. “Yeah. You had a hard-on for it.”
Logan choked back a laugh, and the sound sent a thrill of desire straight through me. “Eme. I had a hard-on for you. The bike was a bonus.” He picked up a helmet then gently slid it down over my head. He tucked in strands of hair then did up the chin strap. He leaned back. “You still rock a helmet, baby.”
I don’t know what came over me, but I hit a pose, putting my finger to my mouth and cocking my hip with my other hand resting on it.
This time he laughed outright, flashing his white, perfectly aligned teeth. I turned into a splat of butter sizzling on high heat. The guy was brooding and demanding most of the time. When he laughed, it was like filling me up with a rainbow.
He turned serious. “You still don’t get how hot you are, do you?”
No. I was fine with how I looked; I mean, I accepted what I was given.
“Your mother is a piece of work. She put you down to make herself feel better. You deserve better than a piss-drunk mother.”
“She had issues. And Logan, I think your father takes the ‘piece of work’ award.”
“F*ckin’ right he does. When we’re good, you’re meeting my mom and finding out what a real one is like.”
I was taken aback by Logan’s casual mention of his mom and me meeting her. He was right, my mom was a bitch. She never gave a crap when I moved out and in with Kat and Matt. The only time I heard from her was if she broke up with a guy and needed money, which I rarely had. Since she knew nothing about the farm or where to find me, I hadn’t spoken to her in years.
“Eme?” He stroked a line down my nose. “You have that look. What’s happening in that non-stop thinking brain of yours?”
“Nothing.”
He slipped his hand into mine, and our fingers linked. The scent of his soap drifted into me, and I inhaled deep, closing my eyes. I couldn’t let go even if a train came between us. I wanted to cry for what I was slowly losing—myself. I was losing myself to him again, and no matter how much I wanted to keep him out, he was breaking his way back in. But he’d leave with the band again, and I’d leave his farm. Even though Logan had given me the ability to have my dream, it wasn’t my farm. I’d lived off Matt, now Logan. I couldn’t do it anymore. I wouldn’t. And soon, I’d have enough money to get my own place.
“Emily?” I met his eyes. “Let go of what happened for today.”
Did I have that in me? Could I let the old Logan I loved in for one day?
“Baby.”
The bike. The horses. Logan looking at me like I was the only woman in the world. All reminders. Could I trust him? No, that wasn’t the question anymore, I realized. It was could I trust myself with him?
I nodded, and the weight of the helmet slipped forward, and he grinned as he shifted it back. “Small head considering all the shit it carries around.”
I smiled. He was right.
He put on his helmet, and I slapped my hand on the top where the painted skull was. Underneath were the words Tear Asunder. “What does it mean? I mean I know it means tear apart, but what does it mean to the band? Why the band name?”
“What was done to us. The band voted. And since the band was also torn apart for a while, as well as you and I, well, it fit.”
He snapped the kickstand up then started the bike, revving the throttle. He nodded to me, and I slipped on behind him. I was in shock. It meant ... it meant Logan had seen what happened between them as being torn apart. Not him pushing me away. Or me escaping him. It was both of us—Torn apart. Forced. Ripped. Broken.
Did the band know the details of what happened? They had to know about Logan’s father and my kidnapping, but how much more?
The moment I slid up against him, my inner thighs next to his outer, my pelvis tight to his ass, I felt the scorching heat sweep through my veins. “Logan?” I barely said his name; it was a hint of a whisper.
“We were torn apart, because Eme—I’d never have stayed away from you any other way.”
I had nothing to fight with. Nothing. I felt like falling against him and sobbing for him, for us, and for what had been done to us both.
His hand rested on my thigh, and he squeezed. “Feet.” I put my feet up. “Need you closer. Arms.” I snuggled in, and then felt the rumble in his chest and what sounded like a groan. “Christ, how far is this place?”
“Logan?” I wanted to tell him ... to have him turn and look at me so I could tell him that I felt it too. We had been torn apart.
“Not now, baby.” He shook his head once. “How far?”
I relented. “An hour.” I wrapped my arms around his waist, my fingers interlocking. I felt the muscles of his abdomen against my forearms, rock hard and tense. He was breathing in and out rather quickly, and I bet if I reached down I’d feel the hardness a little lower. I bit my lip, swallowed, and then closed my eyes.
“F*ck.” Logan shot off, careening down the driveway as if the bike was part of him, and they were part of the road.
It took me five minutes before I relaxed into him. Then I raised my head that had been pressed up against his back and it felt like old times.
It was exhilarating.
The vibration of power beneath me took hold and refused to let go. I felt part of him again.
This was something he loved, which made me love it too.
The ride went by too quickly. Logan stopped the bike outside the gates to a long driveway lined with willow trees. Paddocks with thoroughbreds grazing on the lush grass lined either side. The owner had called me about a racehorse that’d been in an accident. The trailer had flipped over on the Four Hundred highway, and the horse had been trapped for hours. It took the Jaws of Life to get the stallion out, and since then, the horse panicked whenever he felt pressure on him. According to the owner, the champion racehorse also couldn’t go into a stall without a tranquilizer.
Logan rolled the bike up to the intercom and pressed the button. A male, heavily accented voice, asked if I was Emily. The gates opened as soon as I verified who I was.
I gestured to the long driveway. “Take it slow, rock star. Scare the horses, and I lose this job.”
The twitch in the outer corner of his lips appeared. “I like you calling me rock star, Mouse.” He turned back, revved the throttle then passed through the gates at a snail’s pace.
It took all of five seconds after meeting the owner of the estate and the racehorse before I had to stop Logan from knocking the guy on his ass. Tattooed rock star ex-fighter and rich developer didn’t mix; unfortunately developer guy Rob wanted his racehorse fixed, and supposedly, I was his last hope.
Blame it on the sweetness of my name—shit, I don’t know—but Rob took me in with his eyes, and it was clear he planned to have me in his bed by noon. Logan was juicing up his male testosterone, ready to slam his fist through Rob’s aristocratic face as soon as Rob’s eyes went from my face down to my toes.
Rob wore a cocky expression and a half-smile as he took my hand and kissed it. “I wasn’t expecting a beautiful woman. I’m a little caught off guard here, Emily. I’m suddenly wishing now that I was the stallion with the issue.”
Uh oh.
Logan was standing behind me, but out of nowhere he was in front, the bulldog effect. I put my hand on his arm and squeezed. Please don’t ruin this for me. Rob was willing to pay whatever it took, and the horse needed me.
Rob laughed; it was more of a fake crackle really. “Sculpt from Tear Asunder. Just saw your picture in the Toronto Now magazine. Didn’t know you had a hand in horses. Not thoroughbreds, I imagine. I know everyone in the racing world. Shetlands, perhaps?”
I balked. I knew Logan wouldn’t have any idea what a Shetland was, and I was thanking God for that. The miniature ponies were cute and fuzzy, not something Logan would find amusing coming from Rob.
“Emily and I bring in abused horses. We’re not prejudice about the breed.” Logan looped his arm around my shoulders and tugged me close. Logan obviously believed that possession was nine-tenths of the law.
Suddenly Logan had made us into a couple, and I was uncertain whether he was just saying that to give Rob that impression or if he really did consider us together.
Rob’s brows rose. “Oh, I didn’t realize. And the pretty blonde in the picture?”
Wow. Rob knew how to play hardball, and I tried to ignore the comment, but still a wave of jealousy sifted through me at the thought of any pretty blonde on his arm. Was she a groupie maybe? Kat said the band was pretty popular now, and there would be tons of girls wanting more than just a picture with Logan.
I cleared my throat trying to draw both of their attention away from one another. “So, where’s the horse?”
Logan set his helmet down on the seat of his bike. It was a calculated move—slow, deliberate, and it freed up his hands. I’m sure Rob had no idea that Logan grew up fighting.
And I was going to lose a client which possibly meant a whole slew of new clients.
“I don’t play games, Richard. Emily belongs with me. You want to f*ck with that then we have a problem. Give me a problem, then it makes Emily have one. She wants to work for an ass like you, that’s her business. You hitting on her, that’s mine.”
Yeah. I just lost a client.
My heart was racing probably just as fast as a thoroughbred’s in a starting gate. Rob was watching us both, his face showing me nothing as to whether he was going to kick us off the property or not.
“Let’s see that horse, shall we.” Rob turned and walked towards the barn, and I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Then I smacked Logan in the chest. I hurt my hand, but refused to admit to it.
Logan didn’t react, but what he did do was cup my face, lean down and meet my eyes. “You, Emily. You’re worth fighting for. I fought all my life, but never for anything worthwhile. Now ... Now I’m fighting for my heart. Bullshit ends here and now.”
Any argument I had was burned with those words. But I couldn’t help still imagining him with his arm around some blonde. I pulled from his grasp and stepped back. “And the blonde?”
His look of surprise changed to a smile. “Blonde was a fan, baby. Wanted an autograph for her little brother.” He was quick as he snagged me around the waist and kissed me on the lips. “But I love you being jealous. It’s hot.”
“Hey, you coming? Horse is behind the stable,” Rob called.
Logan dropped his hands from my waist and I turned and headed for the barn, hearing Logan’s sexy chuckle behind me.
Logan
Logan watched Emily work with the chestnut stallion in the round pen. The dance she played with the horse was mesmerizing. She became another person, calmness settling over her as if nothing the stallion did could unglue her. She was patient and relaxed with a steady, consistent confidence that the stallion tried to test time and again with his antics.
It was magical. Emily was magical.
This bullshit she kept putting up between them had to stop. The bike—Christ, the bike with her up against him—was hot and pure torture. He could feel her body quivering, the pulse of her heartbeat against his back. It took two years to get the shit out of his life that robbed both of them of a chance together. According to Deck last night—that shit still wasn’t gone.
Rob had sent him into fight mode. He made it damn clear that Emily was his, and if developer slime ball didn’t respect that, then he was hauling her ass out of there. Not a chance was she working for some guy who didn’t respect her. Shit like that led to unwanted attention, and unwanted attention led to worse shit.
Rob came to stand beside him, arms hooking over the third rail of the fence. Logan didn’t bother acknowledging him.
“She’s good.”
Logan remained silent.
“I was skeptical when I heard about ‘the girl who speaks to horses.’ Googled her, but didn’t find much. Surprising considering how good she is.”
Logan kept his eyes forward. Emily was in the middle of the ring, eyes downcast, her body language inviting the stallion in. The horse’s eyes were calmer now. Then he lowered his head and walked slowly toward her. It was a beautiful sight. Ten minutes ago the whites of the stallion’s eyes were blazing, his muscles contracting, fear emanating from his every pore.
The stallion nudged her in the back with his muzzle, and Emily slowly turned and began stroking his nose.
“Ten minutes,” Rob said while shaking his head. “My guys have been trying to get near this horse for weeks.”
Logan chin-lifted toward her. “She’s always had a way with horses.”
“Sounds like you’ve known her a while?”
“Yeah, a while.” Logan kept his eyes glued to Eme. God, it reminded him of when they’d sit and watch the herd of quarter horses all day and she’d explain what they were doing, how a horse was telling the other to screw off. He could never see it, but Eme ... It was like she saw into them.
“Where did you meet?”
He really didn’t feel like explaining his past to some dick who hit on his girl, but he’d play semi-cordial for Emily’s sake. “An underground fighting ring.”
“Damn.” Rob cleared his throat then continued, “She needs a website. Your girl is good. She’d do well in the racing community. High profile. Lots of money.” Rob nodded toward Emily. “She’s a natural. If word gets out, and I’ll make sure it does, she’ll be turning down clients she’ll be so busy.”
He liked Rob calling Emily “your girl.” Maybe the guy wasn’t so bad after all— F*ck no. He was a guy, and he’d been thinking of getting in Emily’s pants. That thought doesn’t disappear because the guy got shot down. He’s still thinking what’s beneath her tight ass, and it pissed Logan off.
“Emily doesn’t have a website, might be because she doesn’t want to be busy.”
“Money talks. Never known anyone who’d turn it down. You ever turn down a gig if the money is good?”
No. But he would if need be.
“Better clear it with her before you go publicizing.” And she wasn’t traipsing off to every dick’s farm alone, not f*ckin’ now. Jesus, he was on edge every second she was out of his sight. Shit had to go down soon or he’d have to tell her what was happening and he’d do everything he could to avoid that. Seeing that fear in her eyes again—no. Never. Again. Deck said they were close. That he was handling it.
Rob turned to him, brows raised, eyes questioning. “Pretty hard to stay in the shadows when you’re dating the lead singer of an up-and-coming band.”
“Yeah well, Eme’s tougher than she looks. She’ll deal with whatever is thrown her way.” And those words were truer than Rob would ever know. Eme had spirit, more than she gave herself credit for; he’d seen it in her the day they met.
Shit, Emily had come right up to him at in an abandoned warehouse where he’d just pulverized his opponent. He had a cut on his temple, blood running down his face, and no shirt.
She’d wrapped her small, delicate hand around his bicep, and he remembered wondering where the sexy blonde who had latched onto him had f*cked off to. He’d just won a shitload of money and was running off adrenaline. Raul had been there that night. It was the first time Logan had seen him since he was sixteen; so he was revved up and f*cked up.
Emily had been wearing short cut-off jeans, a cute little pink top with sparkles on the front, and her hair was a mess. Her long, brown strands reached past her shoulders and were having a hard time deciding which side to part on.
Did he fall in love right there? No. Not even close. She was timid and couldn’t meet his eyes; there was no sexiness about her. F*ck, he could remember thinking that f*cking her would be boring as hell. He told her he didn’t do brunettes. Not a lie, he never did.
He would’ve walked away and never given her a second thought except when she said, “I need to learn how to fight.”
He’d laughed, pretty damn hard, and he rarely laughed. She looked like a mouse—small, couldn’t be more than five foot four, tiny little nose, petite waist, sweet hips. He remembered thinking for one second, despite her meekness, that those hips would be nice to grab as he pumped into her from behind. That thought pulverized when she told him why she wanted to learn how to fight, and then he felt like a goddamn schmuck for thinking that.
Then Kite came up, and that was it. Girl forgotten.
But she persisted, and that’s when he knew there was something more to her than he first thought. When she grabbed his arm, fingers curling around his bicep, he’d looked down at her small hand against his skin and felt strange warmth shoot through him. He told her to let go, but the words didn’t stick, because for some reason he didn’t want her to let him go. At the time, he’d put it to the adrenaline still rifting through him.
He watched as she shook her head to tell him she wasn’t listening. Her hair fell in front of her eyes, and he had the urge to push it back. It was like a sucker punch to the solar plexus. He didn’t like getting sucker punched—at all.
She looked down at her feet, shuffled a bit then met his gaze dead on. When she said, “I was attacked after work by a guy ...”
Rage rose up in him so f*ckin’ high that he was ready to get in the ring and beat the crap out of his next opponent. The words tearing out of his mouth felt like acid, and he could only hold his breath waiting for an answer, because if this chick was getting— Jesus, he couldn’t even say the word and the thought made him sick to his stomach. It brought back memories of the screams, the girls beaten, the abuse, and his father. It may have hit him harder than usual because of seeing his father that night. But when he asked if she was sexually assaulted and she told him no, it was like a wave of cool relief blanketed him.
Thank f*ck.
He had stared down at the delicate fingers over his bulging muscle. Imagining that hand curled into a fist ... No, he couldn’t.
Then he was being an a*shole, telling her how she could never fight, because really, picturing this girl having to fight anyone was pissing him off. He felt like wrapping her up in his arms and carrying her away from all the bad shit in the world.
Then what did he f*ckin’ do ...? He led her into the worst sludge of the world—his father.
He’d brought her gift-wrapped to his father. “Jesus.”
“Logan?” Emily’s hand rested on his arm, still small and delicate, just like the first time he met her.
Looking at her now, he didn’t know why he hadn’t fallen in love with her the moment he laid eyes on her. She was perfect—the way her lashes dropped to cover half her eyes when she was thinking, how her breasts peaked perfectly beneath her shirt, and her thighs, damn her thighs were rock solid. He felt every bit of them on his bloody bike.
But it was way more than that. His girl had a strong empathy for horses, and the way she was around them, it was sexy as hell. God, she couldn’t see how beautiful she was which drove him crazy, but when she was with those horses, her uncertainty or insecurity or mistrust vanished. Determined as hell, yet still sensual and ... feminine. Her determination was playing against him right now, but despite that he respected her more for it, Jesus, he’d dragged her into hell and hurt her.
She didn’t see her strength, but he saw it from the beginning. God, he prayed every f*ckin’ day that Raul or Alfonzo or Jacob wouldn’t break her. And he’d been so f*ckin’ proud of her when she stood up to his piece-of-crap father, and even though it was the worst play she could’ve done, a part of him wanted to pull her into his arms and cry— Because she wasn’t broken. Emily never gave up.
Logan groaned, as he wrapped her into his arms and sighed when she came willingly. Jesus, he loved this woman. He’d thought of nothing except her for two years. She didn’t know what went down after he let her go, and he’d never tell her; she didn’t need that tainting her life. But it was her that gave him the strength to survive the hell Raul put him through. Deck ... He owed Deck his life for getting him out.
He squeezed her to him. “You looked hot, Mouse. Out there with that stallion ... I’m buying you more horses.”
“I can buy my own horses, Logan.”
He loved when she called him Logan. Eme and his mother were the only ones who called him that. Now he was called Logan by two remarkable women in his life that survived his father. And Deck. Deck survived his father too and risked his life. He got him out of there and witnessed the shape he was in. Deck wanted him to tell Eme what happened, but he couldn’t. She had enough horror in her life; she didn’t need to hear his horror. He’d shield her from that forever if he could.
“I know you can, it’s not the same thing.”
He caressed her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, her eyes closing as she sighed.
“Rescue horses.”
“Hmmm?”
“You want to buy horses? Save the ones that need it.”
That was his Emily. “Whatever you want.” He kissed her forehead. “Trophy, Emily. You’re a trophy.”